


Crushed Stars

by abel_runners



Series: Living With It [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Binge Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Divorce, Emotional neglect, F/F, F/M, Gen, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Spacer (Mass Effect), Underage Drinking, War Hero (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abel_runners/pseuds/abel_runners
Summary: Ada Shepard had a happy childhood. Born in a small mountain town in Arizona; raised in the stunning expanse of space by wonderful parents.  She was a bubbly kid, and she was loved, and the divorce didn't affect her at all. That's what she keeps telling herself. All the binge-drinking on the weekends, the misplaced ache in her chest, the slipping grades? Stupid teenage shit. That's it. That has to be it. Right?Snippets of my Shepard's life and relationships pre-trilogy as she tries to find her place in a complicated, uncertain galaxy.
Relationships: Female Shepard (Mass Effect)/Original Human Character(s)
Series: Living With It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008957
Kudos: 5





	1. A Burning Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ada is left wounded and reeling after her parents' out-of-the-blue divorce.

Ada shrugs her backpack off onto the floor, ignoring the loud thud. Kicks her too-warm boots off too. _Come on, pumpkin. Put those in their spot._ She ignores Dad’s chiding voice in the back of her head. Beelines towards the kitchen.

Her shoulders sag. _Empty_. Of course.

Another note on the fridge, just like always: _Leftovers again, sweetie, sorry. Hope your history test went well. Got a meeting until 19:00, but I’ll see you after. Love you, Mom ♡_

Her head slumps onto the cool metal of the fridge. _Ugh_. Soup for the fourth day in a row’s fucking gross. Maybe she’ll skip. Or go buy takeout or something. Anything but more chunky broccoli soup. 

Her stomach twists. _God_ , _stop being a brat._ Mom’s doing her best. She should just eat the damn soup, but fuck. There was a _reason_ Dad did most of the cooking. A reason she’d would always come home from school and he’d be there, twangy country music blasted high on the radio, in his apron and fuzzy socks, the smell of simmering tomato and basil and he’d give her a bear-hug, he’d smile big, he— 

He left. _And it was my fault. Had to be because of me, right? Had to be._

The light over the stove-top buzzes. The dishwasher rumbles and hums. 

It’s not enough to break through the blanket of silence. Tears burn in her eyes, and she shoves her head harder against the fridge door. The ache in her chest hurts so bad she doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

_I'm sorry, Dad. Whatever I did—just—come back._

_Please._

* * *

The hissing sound of her door opening drags Ada awake, fluorescent light from the hall spilling over her face. She groans, stuffing her head under the covers. A weight on her bed and god, _go away._

Mom’s voice. “I’ve got pancakes on the stove, hon. They’ll get cold if you don’t eat them soon.”

She mumbles something, tucking her head deeper under the duvet. Her breath is warm in the dark. She doesn’t want Mom’s pancakes. Just wants sleep.

“What was that?”

“Lemme sleep.”

A hand tugs the sunflower-stamped duvet an inch down. The light leaks back in, and Ada cracks open her pink-swollen eyes. Mom’s dressed in her new book club blouse and pressed khaki, blonde pixie-cut hair styled, a soft half-smile on her face. Ada turns her heavy head away.

“There are blueberries in the pancakes. Fresh ones.”

“Not hungry.”

Mom goes quiet. The hum of the hallway light, the tick of her alarm clock on her bedside table fill the room.

Ada’s half-wondering if she dreamed her mom coming in here when warm, manicured fingers tuck her hair out of her face, and her mom sighs. “Alright, sleepyhead. I’ll put them in the fridge, so feel free to eat them when you wake up. I’ll be back later today—you know how Grant goes on. And I’ll help you with your history homework if I can, okay?”

Mom kisses her on her clammy forehead, and the weight on her bed lifts. The door seals shut. The clatter of dishes and tupperware, the jangle of Mom’s credit-chit-chain, her breezy humming as the front door slides shut all filter in.

Ada curls into herself, tugging the duvet up to her chin. Okay, god, finally. _Sleep_.

There’s no sleep. The stab in her heart spreads deep, and her eyes sting, and—and— _fuck_ —

_Why the hell didn’t she ask if I was okay?_

She grabs her extra pillow and hugs it tight, fingernails clawed into the fabric. She’s being stupid. Mom’s busy after the move, and she’s still settling in. She _knows_ that. She knows that, and Mom’s so nice all the time about everything, and there’s no way she could magically _know_ how shitty Ada’s been feeling. Right? She's not a mind-reader.

Her breathing turns ragged.

_Or maybe I’m just not worth her time._ _  
_

* * *

The old road stretches out into the flat horizon, dandelions and spindly weeds growing in through the cracks. Sun’s coming up, a deep rusty red spilling over the stuccoed houses. Mockingbirds chirp, flitting from roof to roof. Ada keeps her eyes on the sky as they walk. Her head’s pounding, the last dredges of the fruity jello shots she downed swirling thick and heady through her.

“We’re not gonna get murdered by a ghost. Promise. I go this way all the time. Haven’t seen a ghost once. Not once,” Julia half-slurs out, nudging Ada’s shoulder. Jules’ dress is covered in glitter, long dark hair too, her new nose piercing glinting against her pale skin. _Where’d the glitter come from again?_ A memory of when they were kids, before Ada went off to space, before any of it: glitter and cardboard and Julia's giggle. And now they're here. Glitter, again, but it's different now. Everything's different.

“Mm. Sounds exactly like what someone would say right before they get murdered by a ghost.”

“This is my punishment for roping you into the horror movie marathon, isn’t it?”

She shoves Jules' shoulder right back, mouth tugging into a half-smile. “Oh, maybe. Told you it wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“Come on! You had fun.”

“Yeah, I did, ‘til I had to walk home in the dark.”

Julia grumbles something and picks a couple leaves off a hedge, pressing them between her fingers.

Ada sweeps her gaze over the road. Okay. A quiet back way back to Julia’s place. Nothing but spaced out houses and the smell of dusty sage in the cold air. No axe murderers in masks, no ghosts crawling out of old wells. Her shoulders loosen as they pass another gravel driveway. The ancient road is hard and sharp under her bare feet, but she doesn’t really feel it. 

Doesn’t really feel anything at all. Just blurry warmth in her head.

“Hey, Jules?”

Julia swings her shiny heels in her hand, humming. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Ada shrugs, eyes drifting back to the sunrise. The red’s shifted into a softer orange. Orange like Dad’s squash soup. Orange like the market’s peaches in the summer sun.

“I dunno. Hanging out with me. Being my friend. You’re the first one in a while, you know?”

Jules grins her signature grin, warmth and smudged dark lipstick and mischief all at once, and loops her arm around Ada’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, silly.”

She stays with her arm around Ada down the whole road, cracking jokes, trying to steal her heels, doing her best to set off the automatic sprinklers in the lawns. Belly-laughing.

And for a minute, things are just fine.

* * *

“Ada. Are you drunk right now?”

She stops breathing at the bottom of the stairs.

_Shit._

Dad stares at her, brow furrowed, setting his datapad down on the couch—the datapad that was doing a great job at distracting him. _Shit!_

She clumsily smooths her rumpled top and straightens her shoulders. Tries to look sober— yeah, she’s never been more sober in her whole life. She’s not dizzy at all, she didn’t just puke in Nat’s rose garden, she doesn’t have lime stuck in her teeth. Nope. She’s _the_ most sober person in the galaxy. 

“What? No. Why the fuck—why would I be drunk? Watched too many movies, that’s it. That’s all. Blasto is insane. Insane, Dad. _Insane_.”

_Ugh, god. That sound sober?_

He’s in front of her now. She gives him a definitely-sober, sugar-sweet smile and tries not to breathe. Stumbles a step, but it’s only a step, and he didn’t notice. Right?

Dad’s posture slumps, and there’s a downcast look in his eyes that she can’t stomach. Won’t. “You smell like tequila.”

“Oh, uhhhh, Julia’s mom was cooking with it. Spilled some. I’m not drunk, okay? I promise. Yeah.”

He shakes his head, slow, and she knows she’s screwed. 

“Come on. Let’s get you some water and some tylenol. We’ll … God, Ada. I can’t believe this. We’ll have to call Hannah and talk about this tomorrow.”

The weight in his voice. The hard edge of disappointment.

She trails behind him through the house, blinking back the stinging in her eyes. 

_Fuck._

* * *

Ada heads for the kitchen sink, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Afternoon sunlight glints off the countertops. _Damn. Missed my alarm. Again. Hope Dad doesn’t—_

Her glass is halfway full of water when Dad walks in.

He sits down at the table and turns on the news. “‘Morning, honey. Well. Afternoon, I guess. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Slept fine.”

She chugs her glass of water. Puts it in the sink, and god, she can feel her dad tracking her. She levels him with a sharp, jagged glare. “What, I can’t drink water now?”

“You know that’s not it, sweetie. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m _fine_. Can’t exactly get drunk off tap water. Jesus.”

She stalks out of the kitchen and heads back to her room, jaw clenched. He’s always watching her now. Always with that damn look in his eyes—downcast, brow furrowed. She can feel the disappointment coming off him in waves, can practically hear him thinking: _Another thing my stupid kid fucked up._ Mom too, whenever she calls. The worried tone she uses. The thin frown _._

She flops down onto her bed, wiping the beads of sweat off her forehead. Another scorching day. She’d kill for some nice, cool raspberry cider right about now. 

Her eyes drift shut. Yeah. She’ll try to sneak out tonight. It’s not like she can disappoint them more, right?


	2. Flashpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ada's mom gets hurt, Ada is forced to confront the terrifying underbelly of the galaxy. It's too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for some pretty intense descriptions of anxiety and references to parents facing the death of their child in this one.

_Mom’s dead._

The thought lances through Ada like lightning. She jolts up off the couch, the TV glowing. _Mom’s dead._

_Oh, god._

Her backpack’s shoved in the corner, the pizza is freezing cold at this point, and Mom still isn’t home from work. Hasn’t texted her. Four hours. Four hours late and not a word. She heads into the hall, chewing on her thumbnail, stomach starting to churn. Tries to shove the idea away— _no, she’s just late, she’s fine—_ but all that does is make the thought stick harder. 

Kitchen. Fridge. Back to the living room, pacing and pacing. _Mom’s dead._ Died on whatever planet she was supposed to fly her shuttle to, or she got shot out of the sky, and she’s dead. Her body broken, charred, spaced. 

Dead. 

She sniffs. Holds back tears, biting harder into her nail. What the hell is she supposed to do? No one ever told her what to do; Mom always said she’d text and that she’d be fine and— 

Her omni, switched on, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. Scrolling through every news article she can find. What if the colony Mom went to was another Mindoir? She was hungover as hell all summer when it happened so the details are fuzzy, but the snippets she saw on the news were horrific, and it was a fucking catastrophe, and what if Mom got caught in something like that? Stray images of uniforms at her door, of a shiny coffin, of how she’ll tell Dad, if he’ll be okay, where she’ll go live, how she’ll deal with it, if she can even deal with it at all, because Mom’s dead and she isn’t coming home and—

A knock on the door. She flinches so hard she slams her hip into the kitchen table. _Mom?_

Races over and unlocks it, because maybe things are fine and Mom just forgot her keys and— 

It isn’t Mom. It’s a tall, ghostly-pale woman Ada’s never seen before in blues, hair gelled back into a neat ponytail. And her dark, serious eyes are staring right at Ada. “Ada?”

Her heart stops dead in her chest, breath dying with it. Oh, _god_. It’s actually fucking happening.

“Where. Where’s my mom?”

“My name’s Lucinda. I’m a friend of your mother’s, and her emergency contact. Her shuttle was shot down, and she’s in the hospital.”

Ada’s knees go weak. No. _No._

“Oh my god. Is she—dead?”

“No, no, don’t worry. She’s okay. Her condition isn’t critical, but they did tell me she might need surgery.”

“ _Surgery_? What for?”

Lucinda nods in the direction of Arcturus’ hospital, keys in her hand. “They were still assessing her so I don’t know, but I can drive us over there. And we can try to get more information about what happened. Is there anyone you’d like to call to come with us?”

Ada can’t swallow around the lump in her throat. Call? Is there anyone she needs to call? She doesn’t—she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do here. What is she supposed to do? She needs to ask her mom, but Mom isn’t coming home. Mom’s in a hospital bed. 

“Uh—I—my dad, he’s on Earth. And Mom doesn’t talk to her parents. So. No. Not that I can think of.”

“Alright. Maybe try giving your dad a call when you can. Just so he knows.”

She’s walking through a parking garage, Lucinda next to her. Skycar ahead. The tips of her fingers are numb. Surgery. Her mom’s been attacked, and her mom needs surgery. 

_Fuck. What the fuck?_

The waiting room’s cold. That’s all she can focus on. Clean, white walls, and the cold. She hunches into herself in the shiny, stiff chair and stares at the floor. 

_It’s not serious. The doctor said the surgery is to set fractures in her leg and shoulder. It’s a couple fractures, some bruising, no major complications. She’ll be fine, so stop worrying._

She can’t stop goddamn worrying. Lucinda’s gone. Had to take a call from work. Or went to look for hot chocolate. Or something. 

Ada’s called Dad six times now. He isn’t answering.

 _What if_ he’s _dead? Gas leak or blood clot or heart attack. Died alone in his house with no one to help him._

 _Stop._ That’s an insane thought. It is. He’s always been a deep sleeper. He never answers his omni at night—that’s what always made sneaking out so damn easy. 

_You thought Mom was fine too, but look where you’re sitting right now._

She bounces her leg. Looks to where Lucinda disappeared off to. God, what kind of a long fucking call is she on, anyway? It’s too cold in here—she’s got goosebumps, and she can’t warm up. Should’ve brought her jacket. Shoes squeak on the tiled floors. Doors open and shut. Omins beep.

 _People die in routine surgeries._ It’s rare, sure, but what if Mom’s one of the unlucky ones? Her heart monitor going flat, a tube stuck down her throat, her ribs cracking under gloved hands— 

_I need Dad._

She grits her teeth at the damn thought. No. She doesn’t _need_ him. She’s sixteen. She’s almost an adult. She should be able to handle this on her own. 

A gurney rushes through the doors and she startles—a flash of white gauze, of an IV bag, and that could be Mom. Dying. Dead, her shuttle trailing black smoke.

She hunches over herself. Dizzy. Sick.

_Oh, god, I need Dad._

The thought’s desperate and loud and insistent now, and she can’t drown it out: _I need him here, I can’t do this alone, I need Dad, I need Dad, I need Dad—_

His warm presence in one of the stiff chairs next to her, the crinkling of those windbreaker jackets he always wears, his strong arm wrapped around her, the smell of basil and sea-salt soap. He’d say: _She’s gonna be okay, pumpkin. I promise,_ and he’d kiss the top of her head.

Through fuzzy, watery vision, she stares at the other people stuck in this freezer of a waiting room. Their bloodshot eyes. Nervous glances at the clock. Waiting. Terrified, just like her, wondering if the other shoe is gonna drop. If this is it. 

She hugs herself harder. It doesn’t help.

_Make it stop. Please._

* * *

Ada goes still on her way to the kitchen to grab some juice. Huh. The light in her mom’s room is still on, the yellow glow leaking out from under the door. Mom’s been staying up a little later after the attack—says the scar gets itchy—but not four-in-the-morning late.

 _Something’s off._ She creeps over to the door, and that’s when she hears it: muffled talking. A call?

“...just can’t believe it. God, she went out slow, too. Hypothermia and blood loss. Yeah. From the varren. I can’t even think about what she must’ve gone through in those last couple minutes. And Lauren and Pete…It’s horrific. I can’t imagine how they’re even dealing with any of this. I don’t know what I’d do.” 

_What? Dead? Who the fuck is dead?_

“Yeah, I don’t know. I have no idea what I’d even tell Ada. I mean, they only hung out when she was a little kid, so who knows if she even remembers her. I don’t want to freak her out. Especially so soon after my shuttle thing.” 

Wait. Lauren and—?

_A gap-toothed girl presses fistfuls of leaves into the green bucket, giggling, her mousy brown hair tangled. “Mud soup! Mud soup! Keep stirring, Ada!”_

She shoves a hand over her mouth. Oh god, what? Naomi? That girl she’d always play with at the park? Mud soup and fairies and orange slices. Finding frogs in the lawn and snapping pictures. Letters and beaded bracelets and marshmallow hot chocolate. She’s _dead_ ? She—she froze to death and got—mauled by varren? Oh my god. Oh my god. _What?_

“They’re investigating, but right now, it seems like it was the Blood Pack. I knew she was groundside in the Terminus, but fuck. I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t. She was such a sweet kid. Yeah, I’ll send them a card, too. I wish I could do more,” murmurs her mom. Ada’s never heard her voice so low and raw.

There’s a beep. Footsteps. Ada pushes herself off the wall and away from her mom’s room. Away from this. Scampers back to her bed and curls up under the covers. She feels like she’s gonna puke. It’s not like she was best friends with Naomi, they haven’t talked in years, so this shouldn’t be freaking her out so much, but— 

She remembers. God, she remembers Naomi clear and sweet and Mom’s never gonna tell her, is she? She doesn’t know how to do this. To wrap her head around— 

_Naomi’s skin frostbitten and broken open. Mud soup. A freezing hospital waiting room. Emergency contacts at the door. Bold-red headlines on the kitchen TV. Varren teeth shining with red. She went out slow. Two parents surrounded by cards and flowers._

_A family, broken._

Ada stares out into the dark of her room. Her chest hurts so bad she doesn’t know what to do with it.

_No. No. This can’t keep happening. There has to be a way to make it stop. I’m gonna figure out a way to make this fucking stop._


	3. House of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ada works as hard as she can to make all the bad stop. Along the way, she falls in love, finally makes her parents proud, and figures out her purpose. Things have never been better: all she has to do is keep it up.

“Mom! Hey!” Ada slides into the kitchen on her socks, waving the datapad in her hand. “Guess what?”

Her mom looks up from her omni-tool, thumb stilling on her thigh-bone. Her leg’s been healed for a couple months now, but Ada still catches her tracing the site of the fracture. “What’s up?”

“I just got my grades back and I got an A+! On the bio test!” 

“Oh my god!” Mom shuts her omni off, sweeping her into a big, strong, hug. She smells like waxy lip-balm and floral detergent, the same smell from when Ada was a kid, the same strong hug. She leans into it, honey-warmth spreading through her, undoing the knot of tension she’s been carrying all day. “Sweetie, I’m so proud of you! You earned it after all those late nights.” 

Her mom pulls away, hands on her hips, eyes shining. “Okay, that settles it. No book club tonight. We’re going out for ice cream at Carlotta’s. Oh, and you’d better call Nathan too—he’ll be so proud.”

Ada’s jaw goes slack, the thought of expensive, fresh gelato just about killing her on the spot. Ice cream that isn't from a vending machine; that doesn't taste like used strawberry toothpaste. A call to her dad that doesn’t end in tense silence or heavy sighs of worry. That’s happy.

“Wait, wait, we’re going to Carlotta’s? Really?” 

“Yeah, really! It’s about time we revived our ice cream tradition.” 

She scrambles for her jacket and boots, smiling big for the first time in hell knows how long.

Ice cream it is.

* * *

This was a _bad_ idea—she never should’ve said yes. Maybe she should cancel. Yeah, god, maybe she should.

Ada paces up and down her room, chewing on her lip. Her clammy hands straighten her hair, smooth down her blouse for the sixth time. She checks her omni. 17:29. One minute. Her heart pounds in her throat, and fuck, _fuck,_ what if it’s awkward as hell? She wants this to be fun and good but— 

The doorbell rings right on time, the pleasant, Arcturus-standard chime sounding like a damn alarm-bell to her ears. She takes one last panicked look around her room and rushes out down the metallic hall.

Front door. She stands there, hand hovering over the red lock. A deep breath of cool, sterile air. 

Okay. _Okay_. She won’t fuck this up. She won’t. 

The door beeps green, sliding open.

“Hey, Ada.”

Ada’s brain goes blank and she’s _already_ fucking it up, because the girl standing there—well, it’s Reyna, but oh god she looks so _good._ The glossy, dark hair Ada’s used to seeing in a french braid during class falls loose and soft on her shoulders. She’s not in standard uniform, either: a pretty emerald blouse compliments her warm, golden skin, her dark-wash jeans tucked into leather ankle boots. And she’s smiling that dimpled, soft smile of hers. Like it’s _fine_ and doesn’t melt Ada’s heart into a pile of goo.

Reyna tilts her head at her, brow furrowing as Ada just stands there, dumbstruck, and oh, right, Reyna’s _here_. They’re gonna study chemistry. Goddamn. This is how Ada dies, isn’t it? Yep. This is it. 

“Oh, hey, yeah. Come on in,” she says, trying to smile too, but she’s pretty sure she just looks insane. _Great start, Ada. Christ._

Reyna follows her in, her stack of chem books and notes precariously balanced in her arms as she kicks off her boots, placing them by the door. 

Oh my god. She’s wearing socks with little tabby-cats on them. 

“I love your socks.” 

Reyna freezes, looking down at her feet.

Wait, _shit,_ did Ada actually just say that out loud? Has she completely fucking forgotten how to _talk_ to—?

But then Reyna’s smiles soft again, wiggling her toes. “Thanks! They remind me of my old cat, Osa.”

“Whoa, you had a cat? What was she like?” They make their way over to the dining table as Reyna tells her all about Osa—she was an orange fluffball who loved sleeping on Reyna’s head. Ada’s still nervous as hell, but the sweet image of that soothes some of the jitters. Some.

They set up their books and notes on the table. Mom left a plate of jam cookies and a pitcher of raspberry lemonade for them. Reyna hums and Ada’s already pouring them two bright pink glasses, trying to breathe deep. 

_Just be chill. Be chill._

Reyna fidgets with her pencil, eyes darting to the table. “Oh, by the way, I’m sorry if I’m kind of slow with the chem today—I’m still jet-lagged. I went to an Expel concert on Saturday and the flight back was, well. Long.” 

“Wait. Wait. You went to an _Expel_ concert? Holy shit, that’s awesome!” Ada grins, leaning forward, heart soaring. Any chill evaporated. “They’re pretty much one of my favorite bands. Ever. Were they as good live?”

Reyna’s eyes light up. “They were even _better_. I thought people were exaggerating when they said their concerts were a one-in-a-lifetime thing, but no, it was incredible!”

The chemistry homework’s forgotten. Ada’s nerves, too. They finish the pitcher of lemonade and they’re still talking—about their favorite Expel songs, and dream pets, and how cool and weird it is to grow up on Arcturus or on nameless ships. Mom gets home and refills the lemonade, ice clinking. She retreats to the living room, and they’re still talking. Sunny warmth under Ada’s skin. A gentle smile that never leaves Reyna’s face. 

Yeah. It’s good she didn’t cancel after all. 

* * *

They’re laying on Reyna’s bed, staring out into the sparkling dark of space. Ada leans her head on her chest, snuggling her cheek into Reyna’s knitted sweater. She inhales that lingering scent of strawberry perfume. 

Long day. Her calves still burn from the grueling race this morning, and her brain hurts from trying to cram the entirety of asari political history into it. Reyna’s half-dead, too—Ada had a peek at her notes earlier, and organic chem is as indecipherable as ever.

Still. They’re gonna ace their finals. Have to. 

The stars glimmer. Ada presses her lips to Reyna’s collarbone, heavy eyelids sliding closed. “Can I stay over? Don’t feel like. Like walking home.”

Reyna snorts halfheartedly. “You live two blocks away, babe.”

“Mm. Don’t wanna get up.” 

A quiet hum. “Me neither.”

So they don’t. Ada switches off the lights and they nestle under the heavy duvet. Reyna mumbles something about her notes, that she wants to finish one last exercise sheet or she’ll never get into her top choice. Ada strokes her thumb across her cheekbone, and the worried, tired frown Reyna’s been wearing all day finally melts off. A soft, warm kiss, and Ada mumbles out:

“Hey. I love you, Reyna.”

Reyna blinks her eyes open, gaze fuzzy. Cheeks dusting with dark pink. “Oh.” A big grin like sunlight. “I Iove you too.” 

* * *

“Seriously. It doesn’t even feel real sometimes,” Ada half-laughs out, hands rubbing her aching heels—Mom wasn’t kidding when she said that the ceremony was mostly gonna be standing around all day. 

Julia smiles wide, her sticker-laden violin case peeking into the screen’s frame behind her. “I know. Can’t believe we actually got away with all that shit without, like, dying. But hey! We made it to the other side, no alcohol poisoning or anything. We’re goddamn graduates!” She high-fives the screen and Ada follows suit, giggling.

“Goddamn graduates is right, Jules.”

Valedictorian. Top of her class. Graduating. 

And she’s gonna enlist.

Ada signs off from her call with Julia. She can’t stop the big, bright grin on her face, cheeks hurting from it. The apartment’s shiny and buzzing with music and the first couple of guests, balloons and silver streamers glinting. Mom’s almost done with the party prep—nothing stronger than bubbly, iced soda, ‘course—and Reyna and her friends are gonna be here in a couple minutes. Dad’s here, too. _Here_. He’s home, even if it’s only for a few days. All steady smiles and ruffling her hair and making her his best pancakes. The smell of basil and sea-salt soap.

Everyone’s here. Everything’s finally good. _  
_


	4. Tangled Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ada gets older, and things start to change. Relationships fizzle, blossom, and go sour. She does her best to stay true to her purpose throughout it.

The flight’s pretty empty which is a fucking blessing, because she can’t stop crying.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Ada curls deeper into her fuzzy-blue sweatshirt, shaky hands wiping at her wet chin, sniffling nose, and trembling mouth. Seatbelt clicked on, the ground lurching up, up, the city lights glimmering below her, but she can’t see it. Can’t see anything but—

_The giggly, drunken shouts of college freshmen right outside Reyna’s place. The red lights of skycars glint off her dorm window._

_“This isn’t working. We both know that.”_

_Ada’s eyes slide shut, her heavy head resting in her hands. A shaky exhale. “I … I know. Fuck. I know.”_

“Ma’am? Are you alright?”

She blinks, her swollen eyes aching. There’s a woman standing in front of her. Blue uniform and a crease in her brow.

“Oh, uh, I’m—” She sniffs, straightening up and swallowing hard. “Fine. Fine. Just. Had a bad day.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” The flight attendant gives her a gentle, worried smile. Dimples. Dimples and Reyna and—

_Reyna’s warm, brown eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks blotched. “I wish we could make this work. I love you so much, but. Everything is so different now. I didn’t think college would…I didn’t think it’d make this so hard.”_

_Her roommate drops a dish in the kitchen, a loud curse following. The sound reverberates through the pastel-blue walls.  
_

_“It’s not your fault. The Alliance isn’t helping either, Rey.” Ada squeezes Reyna’s hand. “I guess. God, I guess this is it.”_

_“Yeah. I guess it is.”_

Ada slowly, quietly, cries herself into a heavy, heartbroken sleep.

* * *

“Reyna!” Ada rushes towards her, duffel bag on her shoulder, any tiredness from the long shuttle-ride in fading fast at the sight of her. The spaceport’s crowded but Ada could spot Reyna anywhere, her hair cropped short now or not.

Reyna turns around, her sundress bright, sunglasses on her head. She wraps Ada in a big warm hug. “Glad you made it! You really hungry? We can grab lunch before we head to my place, but I’m pretty sure Malia’s gonna make something.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I had a snack on the shuttle in. How’s Malia?”

Reyna grins as they head outside into the fresh, sea-salty air of the parking lot. “Well, guess who’s a surgeon now?”  
  
“Wait, seriously? So she passed?”

“With flying colors. I get to walk around saying _yeah, my wife’s a surgeon_ and let me tell you, it’s an incredible feeling. Damn it, I’m so proud of her.”

Ada climbs into the passenger seat of the skycar, tossing her bag into the back seat. “Yeah, I can imagine. I’m so glad I’ll be able to see her this time around.”

“Exams won’t be in the way, no. Although she might be kind of busy because—oh my god, you’re gonna love this—we got a _puppy._ ”

Her jaw drops. She—carefully—grasps at Reyna’s arm as they pull out of the lot. “No. No fucking way. If you’re kidding right now, I swear to god…”

“I’d never joke about a puppy. His name’s Barkley, and he’s the love of our lives. He’s from a shelter so we’re still trying to figure out the breed, but he’s a total sweetheart.”

“Hope you’ve got good security. I might just steal him.”

And she almost does. Dinner’s delicious, because of course it is, like Malia’s ever disappointed before—and the whole time, Barkley is staring up at Ada. His warm, shiny eyes wide and pleading. Maybe she sneaks him some steak. Just once or twice. They end up drinking wine and playing board games on the floor. Citrus-sweet air drifts in through the big windows.

They chat about the biotiball championship and giggle about high school, and for a second, Ada’s eighteen-year-old self comes back to her. God. That poor kid sobbing on an airplane never could’ve imagined this. Being _friends_ with Reyna and it not hurting a single bit. Choosing to spend her week of shore leave at her place in Cali. Laughing on the floor with her and her wife, or sleeping sound in their guest room. Slicing watermelon in the morning, their pup at her heels. 

Never could’ve imagined things getting better. But they did.

* * *

The flash of shiny red catches her eye across the room, but she glances at it and it’s slipped away. Again.

Huh.

“And it’s totally ridiculous, you know? I mean, god! We just about got kicked out. Seriously!”

What? Kicked out of what? She tilts her head at the blonde, strong-jawed man talking at her, his fist nudging his friend. Rob and Brian, was it? Well, they’re boring her to death. The seam on her dress itches, and she just wants to go find someone _fun_ to talk to. If she has to hear one more fucking story about their college frat house, she’s gonna lose it. Or kick them in the shins. Hard.

She gives them a strained smile, raising her half-empty glass of sparkling wine. “Sorry, you two. Be right back.”

_Hope I never see you again._

Plates are piled up in the sink in the kitchen. She pours herself more wine and glances at the backyard—that’s where the real party’s happening, lights glittering in the navy twilight and warm voices filtering in. She’ll just slip into the crowd and Rob and Brian can entertain themselves. Forever.

The screen-door swings open.

 _Oh._ It’s the hair she’s been seeing all night, here. Shiny, wavy red hair frames a sculpted, alabaster face, and the guy strides straights towards her. “Oh, hey, I’m refilling too. Marina really splurged on the fancy wine this time around, didn’t she? My god, it’s so good.”

He chuckles then, soft, and Ada’s stomach tightens. Just an inch.

She hands him the bottle. “All yours. Stuff’s amazing. I’m Ada, by the way. Friend of Marina’s.”

“Good to meet you, Ada. Name’s Noel.” A big, bright smile, and he’s right next to her. A hint of musky perfume—cedar and vanilla, maybe?—reaches her, and she resists the urge to lean in a little further to find out the exact notes. Looks over at the living room. The two frat guys are chortling together, but that won’t last forever.

“Oh, damn. You got stuck with those two?” Noel whispers, and he’s leaning in next to her, close. Body heat warm.

“Yeah. I mean, they’re fine, but I _was_ thinking about kicking them in the shins if they didn’t quit it with the frat stories.” She grabs her glass of wine. “Let’s get out of here before they notice us.”

“Right there with you.”

She heads into the dewy, warm garden, moving as far as she can from the house. Noel follows, swirling his wine. The night smells like wet grass, rose and honeysuckle, Marina’s garden beautiful as ever. Ada has no clue how she does it, but god is she grateful to get some fresh air in on shore leave. There’s a couple chairs tucked into the grassy corner, moths flitting around a garden light. Ada sits right down, a sigh escaping her. 

There. Shin-kicking averted.

“Hey, good find. I’ve been on my feet all night,” Noel says, leaning back in his chair. His green eyes glitter in the light.

Ada hums, eyeing him. Okay. This other guy. God, she hopes he’s not another frat idiot. Doesn’t look like it, but you never know.

“So, Noel. What brings you around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you at one of Marina’s parties before.”

“This is my first one, actually. Met Marina at a gig a couple months ago, and we hit it off.”

“A gig?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a vocalist for a synth-pop group.”

Ada’s eyes widen. Okay, not a frat idiot after all. “That’s cool. Anything I might’ve heard? Pop’s probably one of my favorite genres.”

Noel gives her another bright smile, eyes crinkling. “We go by Empire. We’re not super popular or anything, though, so I don’t think you’d know us.”  
  
“No, sorry, it doesn’t ring a bell. I’ll check you guys out, though!” 

“What about you?”

“I’m Alliance military, actually.”

His smile freezes. And her stomach sinks. _Shit._ “Wait. Wait. Ada. Ada _Shepard?_ Are you actually the hero of—?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Hero of Elysium and all that. It's okay if that’s … I don’t know. Not for you. I get it.”

He puts his hands up. Rings gleam on his fingers. “No, no! It’s cool. Sorry. Sorry for freaking out on you. You probably get that a lot. I just didn’t recognize you without all the armor.” 

“Nah, it’s okay. It’d be pretty damn weird if I showed up to a party in full gear.” 

“It’d be a statement.”

“Mm, maybe. Don’t think Marina would appreciate me scaring the shit out of her guests, though. She’s a stickler like that.”

He laughs a little at that, the same warm rumble from before. She can’t help but lean in. “She sure is.”

The last lines of tension ease from her muscles as they sit there, chatting in the lush corner of the garden and sipping slow on their wine. Turns out Noel grew up in Denmark, and he’s never left Earth—not once—which is something she can’t wrap her head around. Something that’s damn fascinating, too. A life so different from hers. He doesn’t bring up a fraternity once, either. Laughs that intoxicating, honeyed laugh at all her stupid, half-tipsy jokes, and asks her about the Alliance, and they talk, and talk, and talk, until their voices go hoarse.

A blanket of stars glitters in the sky by the time Marina comes on over and lets them know it’s about time to head out. Most of the other guests are wandering out to the driveway, fairy lights strung down and glasses left on tables.

It’s—what? It’s already time to go? She glances over at Noel, and before she can think about it— 

“Hey, Noel. Could I get your number? I had fun tonight.”

“Oh, of course! God, I’d be an idiot to say no. Here—oh, wait.”

“What’s—?”

Noel brushes his thumb under her eye, soft. And she loses the ability to speak.

“Eyelash.” He blows it off his finger and grins. Her cheeks flush. _Goddamn it_. That hair, long and wavy, those magnetic eyes, that sunny grin, he’s so— 

_Pretty_.

She forces her eyes off him. God, she shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be getting his number. Not after Elysium, not after she’s finally getting her shit together. He’s pretty, and she’s light as air right now, but it’s too risky.

_Too good to lose._

She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes. “Thanks.” 

Their omni’s glowing in the parking lot, she gets his number. She promises herself she’ll see him again.

* * *

Ada shoulders through the chatting crowd, leaving her empty glass on the bar.

 _Air_. She needs fresh air—just for a sec. 

She scrapes her palm on the doorframe as she half-stumbles into the cobbled street. _Damn_ it. Her palm throbs, and the deep breath of air is hot, muggy, and thick in her lungs. Not that that should be a surprise, it being Rio and all, but it’s not the cool freshness her cocktail-soaked brain was longing for.

The streetlights glow orange, glancing off her ruby-red top. Moths flit on and off the humming bulbs as she passes them. Oh. Wait. She’s walking, getting further away from the bar, the beat of the music muffling. She should...Right. Paula and the others, swaying to the band, laughing loud. She should go back.

The lights buzz. Her aching feet keep on moving, and there’s a park now. Benches shrouded in shadow and the dark silhouettes of trees. Hm. She’s pretty sure she’s been here, or around here, maybe. There’s salt in the air. She getting near the ocean?

_Ada. Go back._

The sweet taste of the mint-strawberry cocktail she was nursing sticks in her mouth. Ugh. The exact flavor he always— 

A giggly, rosy-cheeked couple stumble towards her, arms wrapped around shoulders. Ada’s bleary gaze catches on the crinkled smiles, the soft stares. They climb into a skycar hand in hand.

Her chest stabs deep into the bone.

She exhales sharp through her teeth and lifts her chin. Keeps walking. Forward. Always goddamn _forward_.

She’s sitting on some stone stairs and a blister on her heel is oozing blood. She’s kicked off her sandals—stupid things. The moon’s moved in the sky, full and bright, its silver light glancing off the plaza’s marble. No one’s here except her.

Just her.

_Fucking fine._

Ada finally switches on her omni, jaw tight. Opens her texts and—

There's still no response. Nothing except the message she’s read a million times now.

_I’m fucking scared out of my mind, Ada. That’s what’s wrong. I can’t believe Jo's coming to visit. I can’t. He bought his damn ticket without even telling me. Said he'll be here tomorrow. Shit._

_Oh, god. I’m so, so sorry. Fuck. I can’t even imagine how awful and stressful that is. Is there anything I can do to help?_

_Seen: Wednesday, 03:34._

Ada stares at that _seen._ It’s been eight days. _Eight_. No answer. He won’t pick up calls, either. Sure, Noel going radio-silent for a couple days isn’t unusual, but it’s never been—well. It’s never been like this _._ Something must’ve happened when Jo got there. Something bad, like—like—well, she doesn’t know what, but god, it’s all she can fucking _think_ about. Jo was a shitty friend before Noel cut him off, so him suddenly visiting out of the blue? Not a good sign. The _what-if_ of it chews. Gnaws on her during drills, in the bustle of the mess, right at the edges during a briefing. Noel didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else with the band.

There’s gotta be something she can do. Something.

Ada shuts her eyes, grinding her teeth down as stray images flit through her: tracking down Jo’s number and telling him to fuck off or _else_. Emailing Noel’s brother. Getting a cab to the airport. Boarding a flight to Denmark. Dropping out of N7 and—

_Dropping out of N7._

All her muscles lock in place, a chill gripping her. _What? No_. That’d be fucking insane _._ Sure, the distance has been tough, and having to just wait around whenever Noel drops off the face of the Earth isn’t exactly a walk in the park, but the solution is _not_ moving to where he is. It isn’t.

Right?

A cool breeze rustles through the moon-bathed palms in the plaza, breaking the wall of humid heat. Distant, distant laughter echoes through the streets. A few skycars hum past above her.

Yeah, no. She can’t do this alone. She brings up her contact list, her hand hovers—and she presses _call._

“Oh, hey, honey. What’s up?”

“Hi, Mom. You have a minute to talk? I think—I’m leaving Noel.”

She does. And she graduates top of N7. And things have never been better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happen to want more, Ada's journey continues in part 2 of this series, [Tightrope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27541849/chapters/67358284). Thanks for reading!


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